


eHarmony

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5 times trope, Alcohol, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Integrating the Muggle World, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, dating website, eharmony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-06-28 03:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19803985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: The five times Harry and Hermione hung out and the one time they went on a date.





	1. Lunch

**Author's Note:**

> I am so excited that Harmony & Co. has reached 2,000 members! Thank you to the admins for putting on this super secret event! I had SO much fun writing this piece that was only supposed to be 6k and... is way bigger than that now. XD 
> 
> Much, much love to mcal for alpha-reading this fic and encouraging me to continue through all my worries! You’re a rockstar and I adore you! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing familiar in this story. Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and eHarmony belongs to someone who is not me, but who could pass up using it for a Harmony story?!

Swipe left. 

Swipe right. 

There are no matches for Hermione Granger that Magi-Tech™ can provide.

She has tried the lot; Muggle Match, Muggleborns Only Dot Com, OK Muggle, Gryff-Tinder. She’s gone on no fewer than twenty six dates in the expanse of the United Kingdom and she’s not found anyone that sparks the most miniscule bit of passion in her. They are all the same. Dockers, polos, loafers, beards; every single man she’s dated is a carbon copy of one another. None of them have serious job prospects. None of them can handle a future Minister of Magic. Some of them have questionable integrity and more than one offers to pay her for a night at their flat.

One gentleman was lovely enough to earn a second date, and then he asked her if she would consider giving him the knickers she was wearing. Hermione Granger declined politely and later found herself wandering around Wizarding London with a pint of ice cream instead of sinking her teeth into the delicious medium-well steak she was craving for a week.

She’s about to give up on app dating sites when someone catches her eye. One Harry Potter, The Chosen One, her very best friend himself, smiling in a photo that appears to be taken in front of the Ministry of Magic in Italy. He looks happy, alight even. Not the sullen desk-ridden auror that she’s used to seeing every day for working lunches. 

He’s, Merlin forbid she thinks it, fit.

She’s never thought of him like this before. Never scrutinized the curve of his jaw or the stubble on his chin. She’s never looked at his eyes like they might hold something more than friendship in their green stare. It’s strange to observe this still life photo of her best friend and think about what they could become, if they’d work out romantically, and if she’s willing to disrupt their friendship with deeper feelings.

Has his hair always looked so roguish? No, it’s always been messy and chaotic — but dashing? 

Hermione squeaks and slides the app on her phone from bottom to top. She can’t contemplate this. No, it’s entirely inappropriate. So, she determines to ignore that she’s seen anything at all and decides that she’ll never, ever mention it to Harry, either. 

Ignoring Harry’s face on a dating app turns out to be impossible. 

Not only is he on all of the muggleborn sites that she’s registered on, but he’s on eHarmony, too. He’s in a football kit, is fit, and looks entirely muggleborn. 

She’s so buggered.

All weekend, she’s thinking about how to go about expressing her interest on Harry’s profile. If she just swipes and waits for his response, she’ll go out of her mind. If she sends him a message, it makes her too vulnerable. If she approaches him, it seems rather desperate. In the end, she has an entirely new profile on eHarmony for one Jean G., a constabulary consultant in London. Hermione adds a few glamour charms to her profile photo and puts her profile live.

Her finger hovers over the “SAY HI” button on Harry’s profile. If she does this, she can’t ever take it back. There’s a measure of deception in her plan — nothing nefarious, of course, but certainly it’s questionable. She just wants to know if she can even feel something for him without putting her friendship with Harry on the line. If not, he need be none the wiser. 

_ Hello. _ The greeting rolls off her fingers and she chews on the corner of her lip before finally pressing send. 

An ellipsis appears. He’s typing back immediately. Hermione’s heart jumps into her throat. No, this is a very bad idea. She never should have messaged him. She’s half a second from panic-deleting her account when her phone dings. 

_ Hello, Hermione.  _ The flutter of her heart is so fast that she’s sure she’s about to pass out. He keeps typing.  _ I didn’t know you were using muggle sites as well.  _

He knows. He  _ knows _ she is using dating sites. That means he’s looked at her profile. That also means that he’s passed up her profile. It hurts for some reason and she stares down at her phone with a frown. 

_ Lunch?  _ It reads just like his daily memos to her office. Why hadn’t they ever texted before? 

Her thumbs move across the screen.  _ See you in ten.  _

She smoothes down her wild, frizzy hair as she approaches the little corner cafe they’ve called theirs for the past decade. Hermione peers through the window and sighs. Of course, he’s already sitting inside at their two-chaired table, a croissant and a short tea set out in front of her seat. Harry smiles that earnest smile that she’s certain she finds attractive now. She waves and darts into the cafe, heat flushed on her face. 

“So.” Harry runs his fingers through the sticky-up fringe on his forehead. “eHarmony? Wizards not enough anymore?” 

Hermione sighs and pinches a piece of her croissant. “It’s not that they aren’t enough. It’s just that I expect too much.” 

It earns her a chuckle. “Hermione Granger, Hero of the Wizarding War, expects too much of her love life? Never.” 

She chucks the piece of croissant at his forehead and it pings off his scar. 

“Oi!” He laughs and grabs the flaky crumbs from where they plops in front of him and tosses them onto the corner of his plate. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much. Eth. What’s the proper phrasing there?”

“Well.” She considers him carefully as she draws out the word. He’s dressed simply, a muggle cotton shirt and jeans. He’s as attentive as always, always the edge of a cheeky smile on his face. “Hamlet actually says: ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’ Not all of the words need ‘eth’ added to them, you know? And I’m not protesting — your sarcasm regarding my love life is unappreciated, thank you very much.”

“Consider me educated on Old English, then.” Harry sips his tea.

“Early modern english.” Hermione pops a piece of croissant into her mouth. 

“What’s the difference?” 

She splutters. How could she even imagine that Harry, of all people, is the person she’s meant to spend the rest of her life with? What’s the difference between Modern English and Old English! It’s like asking the difference between muffins and croissants — there  _ are _ differences. There are!

“I have to get back to work,” she says finally and tosses a few quid on the table. Harry tries to protest, but she hates it when he pays for her. “I’ll see you at the office, yeah?”

“Oh… kay. What just happened?” She can feel his eyes follow her as she leaves, but she doesn’t dare glance back. 

  
What is she thinking? Hermione Granger and Harry Potter? Horrible combination. 

Friends, that’s all. 

But, the beat of her heart tells her otherwise. 


	2. Drinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to mcal for her continued brilliance and for being a wonderful alpha!

“So, I told ‘er, Harry—” Ron’s arm winds around Harry’s shoulder and he pulls him into his torso. “I told ‘er that I love her and she actually says she loves me, too!” 

Their ginger best friend is a mess of laughs and beer. He lets go of Harry after a moment and squishes back up against the girl in question. One Luna Lovegood, who, without drinking a single drop of alcohol, appears heavily influenced by  _ something _ . She presses a kiss into Ron’s dimpled cheek and smiles kindly at Hermione. 

“How is your dating going, Hermione?” Luna asks with the familiar breathless quality of her voice. 

“Er—” Hermione twitches to her phone, but leaves it sitting in her bag. She’s not going to check it again. She’s not. Her last message is still unread from days ago and she can’t bring herself to read it. “I think I’ve stopped using the websites and apps, actually.” 

“Have you?” Harry’s eyebrows draw together. He leans close to her and adopts a heavily scrutinizing expression that Hermione returns with a scowl. 

“I have.” She nods and wraps her tiny hand around whatever fruity drink Ron had brought her from the bar. “Did you know I’ve been propositioned for sex three times in the past week?”

Harry chokes around the amber liquid in his pint. He coughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Through watering eyes, he turns to Hermione and frowns. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Well, it’s hardly something that I want to discuss, is it?” Hermione sips her drink — empties the glass in three quick pulls of her straw. “I never know who to take seriously on those platforms and I’m tired of wasting my time.” 

“Blokes are disgusting,” Ron agrees and squeezes Luna closer to him. “‘Cept Harry and I, ‘course, right love?”

“I think Hermione needs another drink, Ronald.” Luna urges Ron out of their booth and he’s only too happy to go grab another round from the bar. “I think I’m going to the ladies’ room. It might take me a while and there’s a long line at the bar, too.”

Hermione’s eyes are round as saucers as she watches the knowing smile on Luna’s face disappear as her long, pale legs carry her away. Harry chuckles at her side and tries to hide his growing smile behind his hand. Hermione can’t help but join him and roll her eyes toward the ceiling.

“So — broke some hearts this week?” Harry grins at her and she pinches his side. 

“I like to think that I promoted individual experience, actually.” Her tone is mock haughty, nose in the air and mouth pursed.

“Cruel witch,” Harry teases her. His arm wraps around the booth behind her shoulders. He kicks back and is completely at ease. “So, you’re off of eHarmony now?”

Hermione shrugs and swirls the straw around in her drink. “It’s the only one I’ve been hesitant to remove.”

Harry’s eyebrows rise high. “Oh? Any particular reason?”

She scrutinizes his face. He’s fishing for something and she’s not sure what it is. Harry’s fingers are on the fleshy bit of her upper arm, slowly and barely-there, moving up to her shoulder from her elbow. She ignores the goosebumps broken out on her forearm. 

“No,” she says finally as Ron approaches with the drinks. Harry doesn’t move. “No reason at all.”

Hermione grabs the drink that Ron slides forward and starts to suck it down. She can feel her face flush at the attention Harry is paying her and it’s brand new territory. He’s never been this flirty before, never really expressed any interest whatsoever. And she’d hate to think he’s only behaving like this because he’s on a bunch of sites that are usually used for hook ups — all bar Hermione use them that way, apparently. 

“You should slow down, love.” Harry’s fingers haven’t left her and are tracing patterns into her skin. They’re calloused from all his wand work as an auror and she tries desperately to keep her thoughts innocent. 

She ignores him and guzzles the drink down anyway. The glass slams against the table. She chews her lip as Ron stares at her.

“Another?” He’s already scooting out of the booth when he tells him yes. “I’ll just bring what I can carry, yeah?”

Harry chuckles beside her and she doesn’t realize how close they are until she feels the rumble of his chest at her side.

“You seem nervous.” 

Of course she is with Harry pressed so close. Doesn’t he have any idea what he’s doing to her? The sharp smell of fresh cologne, the rasp in his voice right by her ear, the warmth of the liquor and his body creating the perfect storm for her hormones. 

“I’m not,” she lies and forces a smile. “You’re right — I think I’ll keep eHarmony for a while.”

“Funny enough,” Harry sips his beer with his free hand and smiles around its lip, “That’s the only one I’m keeping as well.”

“Any particular reason?” Hermione swipes his beer away and takes a drink.

“No.” He steals it back with a grin. “No reason at all.”

“The girl’s loo is in shambles,” Luna’s floaty voice interrupts the staring contest they are in. She doesn’t notice. “I think they have an infestation, but I can’t tell if it’s pixies or—”

“Right.” Ron’s lanky form appears at the table again and he’s carrying five fruity drinks. “After this, you’re cut off. I’ve got a fun night ahead of me and it doesn’t include cleaning up your sick.”

“Charming, Ronald.” Despite her tone, Hermione smiles and grabs a drink. “I can’t remember why we didn’t work out.”

“You called him a cotton-headed misogynist pig when he asked you to have children and remain home with them instead of following your heart in politics.” Luna’s adoration of her boyfriend really sugarcoats the actual tone and volume at which Hermione had said those words so many years ago. 

“And he said that you’re a selfish, bossy cow because you asked him to keep his job at the Ministry so that you wouldn’t look bad when you made your run for Minister.” Harry’s grin is outlandish. He’s practically bouncing. 

“Right,” both Ron and Hermione whisper in sync. Hermione offers her glass in cheers. “To proper, adult decisions and removing toxicity from our lives.”

“Hear, hear!” Ron clinks his pint against her glass and they both swallow every drop at their lips.

Harry’s lips brush her ear. “If you keep sucking on that ice cube, I’ll have to escort you home immediately.”

He tilts her chin with one finger and forces her gaze across the room. A pair of dark eyes watch her carefully. She crunches the ice between her molars and breaks his stare. Harry laughs and the puff of air against her skin breaks her chest and arms in gooseflesh. She’s determined to believe that it’s the coldness of the ice.

“Hermione, are you alright?” Luna reaches over the table and covers Hermione’s hand with her own. “You look flushed.”

“Fine, I’m fine. I think I’ll head home now.” 

She has to force herself from Harry’s side and to leave the booth without catching his eyes. It’s hard to walk away, but she’s not… she doesn’t just want to have a drunken hook up with her best friend. He tries to call after her, but she waves a hand behind her back and leaves the rest of her drinks, along with her very best mates, behind.

She’s going to delete eHarmony when she gets home. 


	3. Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More love for mcal, the alpha extraordinaire! <3

Of course she doesn’t bring herself to delete the app. Instead, she spends an entire night scrolling through Harry’s various social media profiles. Who is he, outside of the magical world? Harry Potter, wealthy businessman who enjoys football and martial arts. He enjoys karaoke and dancing and small pubs where everyone knows one another. 

Up until now, Hermione believed that Harry only lives a magical life. She’s very wrong. 

He has a boat -- a  _ boat _ that he calls Felix Felicis. Because Harry is cheeky and always pushing the boundaries on what’s acceptable. He toes the line between magical and muggle and isn’t that what she’s always wanted? 

He’s been bungee jumping and skydiving and how did she never realize that when he’d travel for work, he’d also actually explore the world? Hermione swipes through photo after photo of Harry in some new, exciting place. His Facebook profile says “Next Up -- Ecuador” as if this is something he does all of the time. And who are all of these people that he’s friends with? And why hasn’t she ever known that he has an entire muggle life? 

And… why hasn’t he included her, his muggleborn best friend? 

It’s dawn when she finally closes her eyes. Her alarm blares unforgivingly. She wakes with a headache and a rock in the pit of her stomach. She doesn’t really know Harry and if she’d only paid attention over the years, perhaps she wouldn’t be so surprised to learn that he’d gone off and become something other than Harry Potter - The Chosen One. 

She sits at her little dinette set over breakfast and sips tea. Her phone is between her fingers and she’s hovering over the little app, debating deleting it all. She’s clearly not as focused on her personal relationships as she should be. Hermione doesn’t need to be dating, she needs to be reaffirming the relationships she already has. 

She nods to herself. “Right, Granger, just hit the  _ X _ and be done with it.” 

A notification pops up at the top of her phone.  _ Feeling alright today? _

Despite everything, she grins down at her phone.  _ Like vomit on a hot day. You? _

_ I had two bottles of beer. You had two bottles of vodka. I’m more worried about you. _

She laughs.  _ I thought you were deleting this app. _

Dots appear for a long time and then disappear. Three times, before he finally answers:  _ I thought you were deleting this app, too. Free tonight? _

_ Hot date tonight, I’m afraid.  _ She deletes that message.  _ No, sorry. _ She deletes that one, too.  _ For what? _

It doesn’t take more than a millisecond for him to respond.  _ Aurors commemoration gala. Good photo op for you. _

_ Time? _

_ Half 7, dinner at 8. Will send the address later. _

_ I don’t know… _ Delete.  _ Is this really a good idea?  _ Delete.  _ See you there. _

It's a quarter to eight when she finally enters the lobby of a lavish event hall. She spots him right away; hair no less chaotic but in fancy dress, she has to actually convince herself not to turn and flee. He’s dressed in a navy suit, a pressed white shirt underneath with a waistcoat that’s a beautiful shade of silver that matches her dress. She doesn’t have the time to wonder how he knew she’d wear silver, nor how he’s able to match his tie to the pattern of paislies on her dress. 

He approaches her from across the lobby, slow and measured steps that make her feel as if she’s prey. His green eyes, normally bright, are darkened under the dimly lit space. She can’t help but chew on the corner of her mouth and fidget with her hands. 

Harry stands in front of her, hands in his pockets. The way his eyes run the length of her from pinned up hair to the open-toed shoes on her feet seize her heart. She forgets to breathe and he smiles and it’s  _ dashing _ . 

She’s in so much trouble. 

“You look--” Harry’s gestures vaguely to her person. His eyes pause on the slender length of her exposed neck. She’s wearing the silver necklace he bought her for Christmas. His grin widens. “There aren’t words.” 

“I’ll take it.” 

Hermione holds her hand out to him and he clasps them together. Harry leads her through the lobby and into a brilliantly lit room with hundreds of tables. Familiar faces sit around the table he chooses and Harry pulls out her chair. When he pushes it in, she swears that his fingers ghost over the back of her neck. 

She tries desperately to keep focused. “Who are we commemorating tonight?” 

Dean Thomas leans in and whispers, “It’s the anniversary of the fall of the Ministry.”

Hermione snaps her face to Harry. He’s sheepish, tucked into the table and his hands resting on his knees beneath the tablecloth. 

“You couldn’t have warned me?” She hisses at him as quietly as possible and suddenly feels terrible for trying to dress so provocatively. “Hey, Hermione, this event is for the Fallen in the war and perhaps you want to keep the breast exposure to a minimum.” 

His lips tug down -- and so do his eyes. She smacks him on the arm. He startles and his eyes jump back to hers. “Er, sorry. Would you like me to transfigure a jumper for you?”

“I can transfigure my own jumper, Harry, Christ on a bike.” She wants to smack her head off the table or run to the floo and get into her sweats and eat a pint of ice cream because that’s what adults do. 

He laughs and she wants to pummel him. “Then I’m really not sure what you want me to do, Hermione. There are girls here wearing far less than you.” 

“Comforting.” She glares at him. “I think social media has made you far too cheeky for your own good.” 

“Social media?” His brows knit. And then his chin jerks and a smile creeps up and he looks all knowing behind those stupid bright green eyes. “You found my Facebook page.”

Hermione’s head falls against the white table cloth. There’s a loud thunk. She hadn’t expected it to be made of solid wood, so she whimpers. Harry’s hand finds her back and rubs small circles on it even as he’s chuckling at her. 

“I might have… had a look,” she mumbles into the table. He coaxes her head back up and she’s bursting into flames at feeling his hand on the base of her skull, wrapped up in her hair and gently encouraging her to lift. It makes her want to knock her head against the table -- harder this time. “Since when are you an adventurer?”

“Sometime around what should have been our seventh year.” He smiles fondly down at her. His hand is still on her back, thumb rubbing concentric circles against the soft silver material of her dress. “Camping spoke to me.” 

“Really?” Hermione’s eyes widen - he’s never said. “I thought you hated it.”

“Well,” he laughs, but she can tell he’s really into it because his eyes light up and his face takes on that ‘I’ve taken Felix Felicis and nothing can stop me now’ expression. “I thought I hated it, too, to be honest. But if you take out the fleeing for our lives, eating wild mushrooms that could have been poisonous, and getting attacked by a possessed snake-lady, it was actually nice to be in the peace and quiet of the wilderness.”

“And you felt that way in the Forest of Dean?” An eyebrow arches over one of her mascara-lined eyes. “Because all of the complaining you did--”

“Was for the circumstances and not for the adventure.” Harry gives her a perfunctory nod. “When the DMLE sent me to Egypt just after making it through initiation, that’s when I knew I wanted to travel around the world. Be outdoors. Do more in the communities.” 

“You’re -- you’re not taking the mick, are you?” Hermione swallows. 

She genuinely never knew that Harry had such an adventurer’s streak about him and -- how had she missed it all these years? The horror that she continuously keeps realizing that she doesn’t know her best friend must cross her face, because Harry has his hand on her knee and he’s leaning in close and he’s leveling her with a look that makes her feel exposed.

“I wanted something for  _ me _ ,” he tells her, obviously guessing correctly what she’s thinking. “I didn’t tell Ron or even my partners in the DMLE, Hermione. I wanted something that was mine.” 

He looks worried, desperate for her to understand. Her eyes flick over his face, from the way his jaw ticks, the way his throat bobs, the worry in his eyes. She breathes out, a long, steady exhale that she promises is filled with all of her own anxieties about being a terrible friend.

“I learned yoga.” It’s the very least she can offer him. Something for  _ her _ . “And I had a MySpace. So I learned basic code. And I take apart computers in my spare time.” 

His bottom lip falls and his jaw hangs open. “You became a computer nerd?”

Hermione shrugs. “I was trying to get myself acclimated to the muggle world again because I didn’t want to lose that connection with my parents. Turns out, circuits make sense to me.” 

Harry’s lips are so high on his face, his eyes crinkle in the corners. He shakes his head. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me at all.” 

Sometime later, after dinner and speeches, Hermione finds herself staring at various couples floating around the huge dance floor. There’s a string quartet playing beautiful songs she’s never heard before. People visit here and there through the entire evening and she laughs with them and is sad with them. She watches Harry the most, though. He’s charming, sort of sassy and sarcastic, but with a real brilliance that earns him laughter. She doesn’t know why she never noticed how effortless it is for him to be in the spotlight. 

She’s still staring at him as he speaks with Kingsley. He has a drink in his hand and he’s gesturing around and leaning in and smiling at all the right moments. She can’t help but smile at the interaction. Then his eyes turn to hers and he catches her staring at him. Harry excuses himself from Kingsley and deposits his drink on a passing tray. 

As he walks over, he unlinks his cuffs one at a time and quickly rolls the sleeves up just below his elbow. He pauses just before he reaches her and holds his hand out to her. She follows its lines, the deep blue veins that run up the inside of his surprisingly bronze arm, and finally reaches his gaze. 

“Dance with me?” 

She already has her hand in his before he finishes asking. He leads her through the crowd of couples and stops when he’s near the middle of the floor. Hermione bites her lip, unsure how intimate this is going to be -- will he place his hand on her hip or wind them around her back or will he hold one hand up? She’s nervous and suddenly terrified that her palms will start to sweat and has it been so bloody hot in this building all night?

“Stop looking so terrified and put your hand around my neck.” Harry pulls her close, keeps hold on her hand and wraps the other over her hip. “Right -- have you actually ever danced before?” 

She thinks it’s the first time she’s ever felt inadequate around Harry. Somehow, she feels so small next to him. And she worries that she’ll step all over his feet.

“Of course I have,” she hisses at him and he laughs. “Your hand is just above my arse, Harry. I’m nervous.” 

He pulls her closer, her foot having no other choice but to step between his. Her hip presses against him, her legs run the length of his. He leaves no room, absolutely no space between them. And, absolutely no question what his intentions are.

Harry’s lips are above her ear. She can hear every little sound that escapes him. The hum of his excitement, the buzz of the attraction that pounds through his chest.

“Do you ever think about the Forest of Dean?” 

Hermione lifts her head from where it had been nearly testing against Harry’s chest. Their faces are so close, she’s never been this close to him before. 

“Probably more often than I should,” she admits. Her fingers twist into the hair at his neck. 

“I don’t dwell on the hunt or the snatchers or what I could have done differently.” His eyes are staring somewhere over head that she can’t see. “I think about us, so young and alone.”

Hermione swallows. Those are all the things she tries not to think about. He carries on anyway. 

“Ron couldn’t understand, could he?” His voice is a little hard, as if he’s transported back all those years to that argument that shattered the safety around them. “His whole family hung in the balance and we — you and I were alone.”

“Everyone experiences the war differently.” His eyes snap to hers and there's a fire there that she’s never noticed before. “I just mean, we share something special because of it, and Ron had his own burdens to bear.”

“I feel guilty sometimes.” His confession rings quietly between them and his hand curls harder into her hip. “I was happy to have that time with you. I’m glad that we grew closer because of it.”

“I am, too,” Hermione whispers with a small smile.

“Good.” He returns her smile with one of his own. 

“Good.” She doesn’t even know if she’s said it loud enough for him to hear. 

Their lips are closer now. His eyes dart to her lips and back again. The music stops. Or, perhaps she just can’t hear it anymore over the thrum of her heart raging in her ears. 

His kiss is soft. Testing. Savoring. Slow. He lays the hand he’s holding around her neck and trails his hand to her hair. His fingers wind in it and pull her closer, tilting her head back as he deepens the kiss. Still languid, still experimenting. 

But absolutely perfect. 

A camera flashes and they break apart. Both are pink faced and shy when their eyes lock again. 

Their friendship will never be the same. But, Hermione finds that she’s okay with it at the feel of Harry’s arm winding around her as he escorts her off the dance floor. 


	4. Twister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mcal deserves so much praise for helping me through this chapter. <3

“If you just lift your arse—”

“Put your foot this way—”

“Ugh, hands go— here.”

A moan. A grunt. A peel of laughter. 

“Twist your hips and—”

“No, not like that. Ow! Ow, motherfu—”

Four bodies crash to the ground in a heap. Curses fly, laughs ring out. Padma Patil is cackling and sipping at a large glass of red wine. Seamus is at her side slapping his knee as he watches the quartet in the middle of the room fall over into a heap on top of a Twister mat. Hermione watches them with a smile because despite that her arm is pinned beneath Harry’s neck, she loves the sound of her friends’ laughter more than anything in the world. 

“It was right foot on blue, you muppet,” Harry hisses at Dean, who is on the floor in fits. “How did you expect to get to blue from under Lavender’s arse?”

“Listen, it was safer for my marriage to go under Brown’s arse than to try and crawl over The Chosen One,” Dean chuckles with his hands over his face.

Seamus raises his beer in salute. “Hear, hear. Speaking as a party to the marriage, I can confirm. Britain’s Most Eligible Bachelor isn’t exactly who I fancy trying to remove from my husband’s thoughts tonight.”

“Oi, come on!” Harry grumbles as he extricates himself from the pile of bodies. “Hermione, tell them—”

“Oh no, Harry,” she smirks as she scoots across the floor on her butt. Hermione folds her feet in a cross style and reaches for her drink on the closest table. “Seamus is right. Britain’s Most Eligible Bachelor shouldn’t also be a homewrecker.”

“But I’m not even gay!” Harry is on his feet, vehemently defending his sexuality. “And I’m not a homewrecker and I’m not a bachelor and I’m  _ not _ eligible!”

Hermione grins into her tumbler and glances to Padma, who uncrosses and recrosses her legs at the knee. Lavender practically seats herself on Hermione’s lap and giggles into her shoulder. Dean and Seamus are pressed together at the base of the sofa and sharing a beer. 

Padma leans forward on her crossed knees, a cheeky smile in Harry’s direction. “Not eligible? Who is she, then?”

There’s a small, covert look shared between Hermione and Harry. So discreet, in fact, that Hermione wonders if they didn’t share it at all. Harry rubs the back of his neck and grimaces. Hermione’s heart is lodged in her throat. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbles finally and snags his drink. It’s emptied in record time. “I meant that the article is bollocks — Rita’s stories always are.”

“Oh, never mind. Harry’s great and all and I’m sure he’ll make a wonderful, straight boyfriend to someone one day.” Lavender rises to her knees, tips her drink all the way back, and slams her glass on the table. “I’ve heard enough of his love life. Let’s play another round.”

“We’ll make it more interesting!” Seamus runs from the room and everyone watches as he returns with a bottle of vodka and six shot glasses. “A drinking game. Anyone lands a hand on red, we all take a shot.”

“For the record, this is a terrible idea.” Hermione takes a glass that Lavender passes over. “Who spins this time?”

“Lavender and I will tag team,” Padma says with an odd gleam in her eye that Hermione refuses to question. Padma plucks the vodka from Seamus’ hands — before he can cast a spell to set it on fire — and fills everyone’s proffered shot glasses. “The Chosen One and The Golden Girl versus the UK’s Power Couple.”

“Damn right,” Dean grins and plants a loud smacking kiss against Seamus’ cheek. 

“I’m very bendy.” Seamus stands on one side of the Twister mat, opposite Hermione. He’s trying to intimidate her with mock-feral looks, but it falls short because he’s Seamus and is as gentle as a pyromaniac butterfly. Dean agrees with Seamus and Hermione shakes her head. “I’ve a double jointed—”

“No, no,” Harry jumps in with a nervous laugh and a glance to Hermione, who is trying to keep her amusement hidden behind a twitchy smile. “What you do in the bedroom is none of our business.”

“Your trash talk is terrible,” Hermione mumbles out of the corner of her mouth. It earns her a nice, echoing laugh from her friends, except Harry who glowers at the colorful mat at their feet and allowed far too much time to pass before coming up with a viable clap back — utterly proving Hermione’s point. “Padma, what’s first?”

The sound of the spinner fills the room as everyone waits. Padma laughs and turns the spinner board to Lavender, who squeals. 

  
“Drink up, mates!” She thrusts her shot glass into the air and then pounds back the vodka. Everyone follows suit and the entire room is filled with the sound of various gagging noises. “Who decided vodka? Ugh.”

“Don’t forget to move to your spots,” Padma reminded them with a sour pinch of her lips; the vodka must be a shocking change from the wine she’s been sipping all night. “Right hand, red.” 

It starts simply enough. Hermione places her hand on the furthest dot to the right and Harry places his hand on his closest red dot. Padma wolf-whistles; Hermione’s butt is in the air as she’s bent over at the stomach in front of her and Lavender. Lavender complains that she doesn’t have a decent view and Harry mocks personal affront at the insinuation that his arse is not a delightful view.

Seamus and Dean each have hands between where Hermoine and Harry place theirs. And then the game gets complicated. 

“Right foot, green!” Padma’s voice calls out to them and Hermione groans. 

Green is all the way on the opposite side of the map. She shimmies her body around the side of the mat, taking care to keep her right hand on red, and lets her foot slide onto the green dot. 

Seamus and Dean are bent over like two bridges over the mat. Harry and Hermoine rest on the short ends of the mat with strange gaits as they balance one side of their bodies. 

It only gets worse. 

Several spins later, Hermione’s left hand rests on yellow and she’s sure that her muscles are going to ache the next day. Harry’s face is pressed against her hip as he tries to plant his left foot on the same blue dot she aims for. Dean and Seamus are twisted around one another. Padma and cackle when they spin another right hand on red. 

“How are we supposed to drink like this?” Hermione grumbles against Seamus’ calf. She can feel it shaking from the muscle strain. She’s sly as she applies just a little bit more pressure than is necessary to encourage him to topple over.

He does. And the room laughs as Hermione, Dean, and Harry all try to keep their balance in the wake of Seamus’ limbs crashing between them. The three non-players each walk around the mat and give the players a shot. Vodka sloshes everywhere, so the mat is slick and damp and smells of gasoline. 

“This is dangerous,” Harry mutters against the skin of her hip. She tries desperately not to react to his warm breath on her cool skin.

“You can surrender,” Dean says with a brilliant smile on his face. 

  
Harry readjusts his hold on the various colored dots and shakes his head. His glasses tumble onto the mat. “Bugger.”

The game finally ends several spins later. The Golden Chosen Ones are declared the winners after Dean smacks his face into the mat while trying to climb under Hermione’s legs. Hermione’s left leg is overtop Harry’s right arm and Dean’s foot kicks her right leg out from where it was over his. 

There’s another pile of bodies, but Hermione barely notices the ache in her muscles as Harry’s head lifts up. Right between her jean-covered legs. She breathes sharply through her nose and blushes a deep pink. Their eyes meet and Harry flashes her a grin. 

“See my glasses anywhere?” He rests his cheek against her inner thigh and Hermione’s breath hitches in her throat. “Hermione? Hermione?” 

The vodka slams into her mind like it hadn’t been before. Her vision is wonky, her face is flushed and it’s awfully hot in her flat. Her eyes are heavy-lidded and all she can focus on is the way that Harry’s lips move, twitching against the rough material of her jeans. 

  
She’s so buggered. 

“Got them!” Dean hands the glasses to Harry and toes Hermione’s hand with his foot. “Hermione? Are you there?”

Dark fingers snap in front of her eyes and she shakes her head to clear the mounting desire. Dean laughs when she finally breathes and asks him what they were saying. 

“The Boy Who Lived and Thusly Always Loses His Glasses lost his glasses again. They were under your hand, which, by the way, is at a strange angle and—”

Hermione lifts her wrist and waves it back and forth. “Seamus isn’t the only one who’s double jointed.” 

  
And just like that, the tension dissipates. 

Harry buries his face into her shoulder, laughter bubbling up and rumbling in his chest. She follows his laughter and falls backward in her fits. After several moments of The Case of the Recurring Giggles, silence befalls them once more. Hermione’s hands are out to her sides and Harry’s head rests on her stomach.    
  


Since when did they touch so much? 

  
She glances up to Lavender who wears a sort of smile that makes Hermione uncomfortable. She lifts her hand and motions something -- Hermione can’t make it out. A swoop, a caress, and then her hand is through her hair as she darts her eyes between Hermione and Harry. Hermione almost gasps out loud when she gets what Lavender is trying to tell her. 

Her hand rests on top of Harry’s chaotic hair. It’s so soft and thick, she wonders how he manages to keep the frizz from it on humid days. Somehow, Hermione ends up looking like her hair is trying to take over a country when there’s the smallest bit of moisture in the air. But not Harry; his hair is utterly straight, though a mess of chunky locks stick out. Her fingers curl against his scalp gently and she stiffens at the sound of pure content that issues through his lips. His eyes close behind his glasses and he snuggles further into her stomach.

“Who was responsible for movie night?” Seamus asks from somewhere above Hermione. Probably on a sofa, definitely with Dean curled around him.

“Padma,” Lavender laughs as she says it and the room makes a collective groan. “She promised it’s good!” 

“Oi, you lot force me into silly rom-coms and—” Padma mock-shudders, “that one really horrible movie where they sing and dance and everyone knows the words to the spontaneous songs.”

“Hairspray was a  _ delight _ ,” Dean argues. “It’s classic. You have terrible taste.” 

  
“Hairspray was—” Seamus stops immediately and Hermione assumes it’s because Dean gave him one of those ‘don’t you dare side with Lavender Brown over me’ sort of looks and he didn’t. “So, what’s the movie tonight, Padma?”

“Hatchet.” Padma tosses the disc case to Dean who starts the movie. “American slasher film that came out last year. Parvati hated it — it’s got to be brilliant.” 

Merlin above, she wants nothing to do with another slasher flick. Every single time it’s Padma’s choice, Hermione ends up having nightmares and sleeping with the lights on for days. One time, she actually forced Harry to sleep in her room just in case. 

  
He did manage to check under her bed and behind her shower curtain. 

_ Psycho _ really did a number on her. 

So, she takes a deep breath and scoots herself into a sitting position, jostling Harry in the process. Her back is against Lavender’s legs and Lavender drops a fleece blanket over her head. Hermoine laughs as she peels it off and uses it to cover herself while Harry maneuvers himself next to her. He steals half the fleece for himself and presses himself as close as possible to Hermione, who suddenly lost her ability to breathe.

Lavender mutters a charm under her breath and all of the lights in the room go out. Dean ferries out three bowls of popcorn. Hermione steals one of the bowls because Harry is a notorious popcorn hog. She places the bowl on her lap as the credits for the movie start to roll.

She knows she’s in for a treat in the first few minutes of the film. It’s a dark and stormy night, men fish in the bayou. Eerie music plays. And even though it’s not the scariest dialogue or setting in film, Hermione settles in close to Harry. An alligator suddenly jumps into the screen and Dean, Hermione, and Lavender all screech. Harry, Padma, and Seamus all laugh at them. Dean shoves a pillow into Seamus’ face and Padma shushes them all so that she can concentrate on the movie. 

The vodka mixed with the other drinks she’s had all night create a delightfully fuzzy feeling in her brain. Worse, though, is that her reactions to the movie are heightened. Her whole body is buzzing with anticipation for the next scare and she can hardly keep her legs from bouncing in front of her. 

Harry’s hand touches the side of her leg and she jumps. Her hair whips to the side and smacks him in his stubbled face. He uses his free hand to move the wild locks from her shoulder and then he pops a handful of popcorn into his mouth with a cheeky grin.

With her heartbeat in her throat and anticipation speeding through her veins, Hermione takes a breath and tries to focus only on the movie and not on Harry’s hand as it crawls over her leg again. After several jump scares and some disgusting gore, Hermione is hit with a reprieve as the movie lightens. She’s lulled into a sense of relief and happily stuffs her face with popcorn and rests her head on Harry’s shoulder. 

Everyone settles in and the room is absolutely silent except for the movie. Hermione hears faint snores coming from somewhere on the sofa and she assumes it’s Seamus as he’s usually the first to fall asleep during the movie. When Hermione cranes her neck to the sofas to see who is still awake and watching, she catches eyes with Lavender who jerks her head in Harry’s direction and makes a rude gesture with her hand. Hermione snaps her eyes back to the movie with a blush high on her cheekbones.

Harry chuckles at her side thanks to a line in the movie and she feels the vibration down to her very core. She’s overcome with him; his nearness, the smell of alcohol, popcorn, and his spicy cologne, and the slight noises that he makes that only she can hear.

The atmosphere in the movie quickly moves from lighthearted to horror and Hermione can’t help but snuggle into Harry further. He empties the popcorn bowl — honestly, she’s only had one handful — and uses his wand to put the bowl out of sight. He adjusts the blanket over top of them, wraps one arm around her shoulders so that she’s as close as can be.

Thunder claps in the movie and when she jumps, Harry simultaneously places a hand on her thigh. Every time Hermione jumps or gasps or moves in any way at all, Harry’s hand moves higher. Suddenly, she’s not gasping or moving because of the movie anymore. His fingers find her denim-covered apex and she’s holding her breath. 

“Is this okay?” His breath tickles the hairs behind her ear. “I’ve wanted to touch you so badly all night. Can I, please?”

She nods, barely, and doesn’t take her eyes off the telly.

So, he does. He presses against the blue jeans where she’s sure to be warm and wet to the touch. And he moves his fingers — three of them — slowly against the crux of her jeans. She can’t help but jerk her hips, seeking out the friction he’s building so deliciously slow. A puff of breath from her lips mirrors the same breath Harry lets out against the pulse point on her throat.

Someone shrieks. Harry jumps away. Hermione’s left wanting, but he doesn’t try anything again. They’re still settled against one another and his hand is holding onto her tightly, thumb running small circles around the skin on her arm. At some point, she falls asleep and wakes up to loud credits rolling on the screen.

“Everyone took off,” Harry whispers into her ear. “They all said thanks for hosting this month and I promised them I’d get you to bed.”

Hermione’s eyes are bleary. The drinks she had barely register anymore, but there’s a warm thrum pulsing through her still. She looks to Harry, who’s holding her close, and smiles sleepily at him. 

“Stay for another movie?”

She watches the muscles in his throat jump before he nods. He pushes up from the ground using the sofa as leverage and reaches a hand down to her. Hermione finds their favorite — A New Hope — and pops it into the player. As the credits come up and those familiar words roll across the screen, Harry settles down into the side of the sofa and beckons her over to him. New territory, as they usually sit on different cushions, at least. She doesn’t hesitate and cuddles right against him. 

Hermione glances up to find Harry looking down at her. His eyes dart to her lips and she watches him duck closer. She has only a second to close her eyes and their mouths meet, slowly and deeply all at the same time. 

She can kiss him for hours, if he’ll allow it. His hands slip through her hair and he tilts her chin at just the right angle so that their noses are out of the way. And then he dives in, tongue caressing hers and encouraging her to play this languid tango that leaves her heart hammering and breath unsteady. Her hands curl into the cotton fabric covering his chest and when she nips at his lower lip, he makes a desperate sort of noise in the back of his throat. Somehow, she ends the night underneath him with his hands up her shirt, stroking the skin of her torso, and his knee between her thighs. 

Before they go any further, Harry pulls away and places sweet kisses over her cheeks and on her forehead. 

“Not tonight,” he says against her neck, settling in beside her. “I want to be sober when I finally get to have you.” 

“But—” She even yawns as the words try to form in her throat. 

  
Harry chuckles beside her and wraps her up in his arms. “Sleep now. We always have tomorrow.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small note to say that Hatchet is an actual movie that I watched just for this fic. It was... well. Padma has horrible taste in movies. XD


	5. Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mcal is the best, much love to her and her alpha skills!

Sunlight filters into her living room and she slowly begins to feel her muscles as they come to life with her. There’s an awkward pressure on her hip and she’s restricted in her movements as she tries to sit up. It’s not until she hears the pathetic groan of a person next to her that the previous nights’ activities flood her mind. 

She’s beet red when she glances down at Harry to find him staring up at her. He’s got a doofy smile on his face, a groggy look in his eye, and his hair is in chaotic tangles all over his head. Hermione thinks her hair probably hadn’t fared much better overnight.

“Morning,” he says with a rasp and moves so that he’s sitting up beside her.

“Morning,” she breathes in return, cheeks absolutely on fire. She pushes her hair out of the way of her face and straightens her twisted shirt. “Tea?” 

“Mm.” He leans in and presses the palm of his hand to her cheek. Harry guides her in for a sweet, quick kiss. They stare at each other, only a slight distance apart, for a long moment, and then Harry breaks out into a sleep grin. “Wanted to break the ice and make sure you knew that it wasn’t the drink last night.” 

“I never once thought that.” She smiles and starts to move from the sofa, when Harry’s hand circles her wrist and pulls her back down to him. 

He’s over her in a heartbeat. His lips devour hers and push for more. He doesn’t give her any time to question it and she’s glad. Her hands dig into his hair and tangle at the roots. His body is pressed along hers and his knee parts her thighs. She should feel smothered by the weight of him, but it doesn’t register. Instead, she moans when he threads his fingers through her hair and grinds his hips against hers. 

The sound she makes spurs him on. He places one hand between her jean-covered thighs and his hips jerk against her with the same pace that his hand moves. Hermione’s back arches and she seeks out more pressure from him. The internal chant  _ more, more, more _ is on repeat in her mind. The soft pleas that fall from her lips are swallowed by his tongue.

Her movements are erratic and she’s pulling his hair too hard, but he’s not complaining. Instead he presses his fingers harder against her and nips at her bottom lip. He swipes his tongue over them, soothing them where they’re swollen and red. When he leaves her mouth and travels down, the noises she makes fills the room.

There isn’t enough friction between her legs. She’s trying, grinding against his hand to seek her release, but he keeps her on edge. She whimpers in an attempt to appeal to Harry — let her come, please, Merlin, let her orgasm snap — but he laves his tongue over the pulse point in her neck and carries on with maddening pressure and pace.

She thinks she’s going to lose her mind when his hand leaves the heat between her legs and travels slowly up the length of her stomach. He lifts her shirt as he goes and doesn’t stop until he pulls the cup of her bra down. His thumb swipes over her hardened nipple just before his mouth closes over it. The noise that leaves Hermione borders on deranged with her need of him. She feels his smile against her breast and yanks playfully on his hair. 

Harry’s knee is against her center and his hips rut against her thigh. This is it, she thinks, she’s going to release and her mind is in instinct mode — seeking that moment of relief and wild pleasure — and she’s moaning thinks like ‘please’ and ‘more’ and ‘Merlin, Harry, fuck me.’

And so he does. Their clothes fly around the room in a flurry of cotton. A lamp falls over somewhere but Hermione doesn’t care enough to fix it. Harry’s in the middle of the sofa and he encourages Hermione to straddle his hips. She sheathes him without wasting a second, his hands hold firmly onto her hips — she’s sure there will be fingerprints for days — as he guided her movements. Slow, then fast, and slow again, and she’s aching from the need to find release, but he won’t let her take it too quickly. 

“Harry, please,” she begs him and jerks her hips forward and back and he takes her nipple into her mouth and chuckles around it. “Stop teasing.”

“I’m not teasing.” He says between nibbles. “I’m reveling.”

Hermione groans and tries to encourage him by raking her nails lightly over his chest. It doesn’t work. She changes her tactics. As he guides her slowly over him, up and down in a vexing pace, Hermione’s hands crawl down the sides of his torso. Her hands wrap around his and she encourages them up and up and finally over his head. She holds them there and presses her lips to his smirk.

In control now, Hemrione lets loose and takes what she needs from him. He meets her thrust for thrust as she bounces on top of him. She pants against his lips and she’s sure that there’s not enough oxygen shared between them. But, she doesn’t care —  _ doesn’t care at all  _ — as she races toward her climax. 

“Fucking—” Harry groans against her lips, her teeth catch his bottom lip. “ _ Yes _ , God, Hermione—”

And she cracks. Her body spasms and she’s not moving of her own volition; her hips jerks and her legs tense and she’s mumbling gratitude and hysteria and she can’t breathe, but it’s glorious.

Her hands finally release his and Harry wraps his hands around her waist. He kisses her gently as she rides the waves of her orgasm. 

“You are fucking incredible,” he whispers against her cheek.

She laughs, a breathy thing that leaves her lungs with such effort that she can hardly hold herself upright. Her legs are jelly and her brain is mush. Harry pushes her chaotic hair away from her face and peppers her with kisses as he removes himself from inside of her. He holds her to his lap for a few moments longer and then lets her crawl to his side. Her chest still heaves and her vision finally clears when he stands up, stark naked, and searches for his clothes. 

Hermione likes Harry like this; unapologetic about who he is or what he appears to be. She watches his body, the way his back dimples by his spine, the curve of his arse, the thickness that had been inside of her only moments before. He’s gorgeous and she’s momentarily bereft when she realizes that she’s never noticed. 

“You’re quite fit,” she tells him as he pulls his jeans over his boxers. 

Harry runs a hand through his hair rather pointlessly. His grin is everything. “You’re not panicking.”

She smiles a small thing when he tosses his cotton shirt to her. Hermione pulls it on, talking at the same time. “No, I’m not. Turns out, this feels right.”

He stares at her as she stands only in his shirt. If she’s not mistaken, his eyes are darker as they rove her body from head to toe and linger for a second longer where his shirt barely caresses the tops of her thighs. Harry walks to her and takes her face between both of his hands. He kisses her deeply and she has to pull away before they fall onto the sofa and get lost in each other again. 

“I’ll make breakfast,” he says finally, as if that’s not what he wants to do at all. “And then I suppose I should be off to work.”

“It’s Sunday,” she reminds him and tries desperately to keep her voice level and not disappointed. She knows he’s an auror and his schedule is erratic.

“Believe me, I’d rather be here. I’ve promised to have my records caught up tomorrow.” He smiles as she rolls her eyes. Of course he’s behind on his paperwork. “I’ve always been shit at paperwork.”

“Alright.” She dances away from him, lest she tries to convince him in ways that are entirely inappropriate. “Breakfast and then I’ll keep myself company for the day.”

Harry groans as he catches her meaning. “You’re killing me.” He tries to reach out for her but she tuts and keeps just out of reach. “Tease.”

Her smile is brilliant as he dashes off to the kitchen. It’s not long before she hears the sound of cracking eggs and a sizzling pan. She uses magic first to clean herself and then to tidy up the room, fluffing pillows that Seamus squished with his head, and levitates all of the dirty glasses and beer bottles into the kitchen. Harry has set her up with a large mug of tea and so she sits at the table in nought but his tee shirt and sips at it.

She’s able to watch him discreetly as he cooks. Toned arms, surprisingly tanned skin, and the bones of his hips just visible over the top of his jeans. When he turns his head over his shoulder, he spots her staring and smirks. 

“Something you like?” Cheeky git. 

“Have you been working out?” She traces the sinew in his shoulders with her eyes. 

“Auror training.” He shrugs as he dishes out scrambled eggs onto two plates. “Rock climbing, too.”

“You’re really into travel now.” Hermione grabs her fork as he sets the steaming eggs in front of her. “Your profile on eHarmony — I never realized how many things you’ve done.”

He shovels his food in and swallows before opening his mouth. It’s a trait Hermione can appreciate. “Still a lot more to do, if you’re interested.”

“I am.” She chews on her bottom lip. “Just — you’re…”

His brilliant green eyes snap to hers and he doesn’t take the bite of eggs that hovers near his month. “I’m what?”

“Living such a full bachelor life,” she says after measuring each word. “Are you sure there’s… space… for me?”

His fork clatters onto the plate. He tries to form words once, twice, and three times before he finally forces them out. 

“I will  _ always _ have space for you.” Harry stands and moves across the table where she sits. His fingers lift her chin. “I have wanted you for so long — so long. And there’s no power on this earth that would make me give you up now that I finally —  _ finally _ have you.”

She’s caught off guard. Never once did she have a clue that Harry wanted her for more than a friend. Not once. Her confusion must be apparent because Harry chuckles and encourages her to stand up.

“Since when?” Hermione asks him as he tangled their hands together at her sides. 

“When I found your eHarmony profile.” He smiles sheepishly and runs his thumb over her knuckles. “It’s the first time I felt jealous. Someone was going to get a part of you that I’d never — and it made me think for ages on you and us and then I realized…”

He lets the sentence linger for too long. Hermione squeezes his hand. “Realized what, Harry?”

A nervous laugh leaves him. “No one holds a candle to you.”

She melts. Her heart nearly flutters right out of her throat. She doesn’t have a chance to respond; his lips are on hers and they’re insistent and firm. Harry unwraps their hands and takes her by the hips, lifting her onto the kitchen table. He stands between her legs and plants his hands on either side of her thighs.

Hermione pushes the plate of eggs right by her arse out of the way, but it flies off the table. The sound of the crash is all that’s needed to spur on the moment.

Harry’s jeans are down around his knees in a heartbeat, his hands are wrapped around the band of her knickers and pulls them down and off her legs with no effort at all. He buries his face between her legs and fills her with two fingers before she has a chance to catch her breath. 

The second she starts to grind against his face, he pulls away despite her whimpering protests. She doesn’t have to wait long before he’s sheathed inside of her. His head is on her shoulder and he’s panting against her neck. He’s railing her like a man possessed and she’s trying to hold on tight to his arms as she the table rattles beneath her. 

It’s the quickest, hottest shag she’s ever had. Hermione’s calling his name when his fingers press against her sensitive clit and then she’s over the edge and shaking within moments. He’s loud, a feral groan as he thrusts into her once, twice, and finally three times. He stills, tense beneath her hands, and laughs against her neck.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against her slick skin. “I couldn’t— you’re so damn beautiful and I just—”

He can’t catch his breath and she relates. She’s not sure her voice would work if she tries, so she grabs him by both sides of his face and kisses him with every ounce of passion she can muster.

When they’re thoroughly snogged, Harry helps her off the table and even casts a cleaning charm on both of them. 

“I better go,” he says regretfully, and moves a chunk of her hair behind her ear. It doesn’t stay and they both laugh. “I'd like to take you on a proper first date tonight.”

“Proper?”

“We’ve done lunch and drinks and game night,” He clarifies, using his fingers to count them off. “But I haven’t properly wooed you yet.”

“Woo?” She smirks and raises one eyebrow as if to mock him playfully. “We’ve shagged twice in an hour. If that’s not wooing—”

“Dinner tonight, perhaps some shagging?”

She thinks to tease him more, but the hopeful light in his eyes stops her. Hermione nods her head once. “Alright. Owl me with the details.”

“Oh no.” Harry shakes his head. “I’ll send the details over eHarmony as I’ve wanted to do since I first saw your profile.”

“You’re not deleting it?” It shocks her; it’s crossed her mind here and there to delete the app and she plans on doing just that later this afternoon. 

“Not until I see this through.” He’s earnest and certain and she’s struck with a sudden realization. 

She’ll never tire of seeing the way his face lights up, not ever. 

After Harry leaves, the delivery owl for her Daily Prophet nips at her finger for a treat. Hermione’s in such a giddy mood over Harry and their blossoming relationship, that she coos to the owl and gives it an extra piece. Nothing takes the smile off her face, not until she sees the morning headline. 

The Boy Who Lived Falls For The Brightest Witch of Her Age. 

Hermione balks at the bold, blocky font. Leave it to Rita Skeeter to keep them in the spotlight. She flips to the article and almost chokes on her tea. 

_ In conclusion of a saga that started thirteen years ago, I can proudly say that I was right when calling into question the feelings of one Hermione Granger and her tragic hero, Harry Potter.  _

Tragic. Had she not been there for the war and written article after article about Harry The Faker, the mental boy who sought attention because he’s an orphan and sad and —  _ ugh,  _ it makes her blood boil. Hermione folds the paper angrily and tosses it into the bin.

As if sensing her rage, Harry messages her on eHarmony. She smiles like an idiot down at her phone and manages to slosh tea all down the front of her shirt. 

_ I miss you already. _

Her fingers move faster than the words appear on the screen.  _ Come back then. _

_ I wish I could. There are still a lot of places in your flat I’d like to have you.  _

Even though he’s nowhere to be seen, Hermione’s face is bright red. Her eyes are squinted under the she’s force of her grin. It takes her so long to try and formulate a response that Harry tacks on another message that leaves her hot and bothered. 

_ Kingsley came into the office just as I remembered having my face buried between your legs. He asked why I wouldn’t stand from my desk… _

Three dots appear on the screen. She waits, holding her breath, until a small chunk of text pops into their chat box. 

_ Percy saw a bruise you left on my neck. I can feel the scratches down my back. And all I can think about is taking you to bed and keeping you there with me all day.  _

She’s so turned on that she chews the inside of her cheek. Tingles everywhere, from the roots of her hair where she can still feel Harry’s fingers digging in, down to her — well, that hasn’t stopped tingling all day. 

She tells him as much.

It takes him five minutes to apparate to her flat and have her divested of all her clothes. He spends the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon making good on his promise to have her in various places in her flat.

Work be damned. 


	6. The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t have done this without mcal — all the love to her for being a star and working with me on this piece. <3

Lumos is the brilliant brain child of Padma and Parvati. It’s a beautiful restaurant, nestled secretly among muggle London, hidden in plain sight. It’s cozy, dimly lit, and a progressive meld of magical and muggle industry. 

Harry opens the door of the restaurant and escorts Hermione inside with a hand on the small of her back. They’re greeted by a stout wizard with a round, smiling face, and he immediately seats them in a quiet corner of the large dining area. 

She is used to sitting opposite of whomever she dates, but not Harry. He’s sat right at her side in his pressed black button up, watch on his wrist, and sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He’s managed to do something with his hair that keeps it from looking flyaway, and the facial hair on his face is trimmed along his jaw. 

Every girl in the restaurant makes eyes at him. Hermione included. 

“Good evening — oh! Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, oh Merlin!” A tall and lean server wearing white and black, crisp clothes, stands at Hermione’s side with a brilliant and embarrassing grin. “Can I get an autograph or — I have this copy of the Daily Prophet, can you sign it?”

Hermione’s eyes are wide as the moon itself as she watches the poor man fumble all over himself. Harry’s face is flushed and he’s staring pointedly at his empty bread plate. 

“Er, sir?” Hermione addresses the server kindly, and nearly falls over. 

“Garamond Quiggly, Miss Granger,” he informs her proudly and extends his hand to shake. “Ray for short, if it pleases you. My friends call me Quig, but I wouldn’t dare assume that someone of your caliber—”

“Ray.” She presses her hands flat against the table, trying to ground her growing annoyance to something so that it doesn’t fly out of her mouth. “If it pleases  _ you _ , Harry and I are enjoying some much-desired private dining. Would you mind awfully bringing us a bottle of your best red wine and a basket of bread?”

Ray stands with an open gob for longer than necessary and mutters an enthusiastic apology before flying off toward the kitchen. Hermione watches him as Harry chuckles at her side. His hand finds hers and squeezes it gently. 

“Poor lad didn’t know what he was getting into with you, did he?”

“Honestly.” Hermione sighs. “I didn’t mean to frighten the poor man, but who does that? I blame Rita for dragging our names to press again.”

“It’s what she does.” Harry shrugs. “Could do without the attention, but I suppose I’m used to it now.”

Hermione is about to open her mouth and detail the reasons why it’s unfair that Harry has to endure this public torture, but Ray is back at their table with a bottle of deep red wine and all the carbs Hermione could wish for.

“I apologize for my outburst before.” His eyes dart toward the kitchen and back again. “I’ve been informed that it was rather disrespectful of me to—”

“It’s fine, Ray,” Harry says gently. “We’ll sip our wine for a bit and then order, if that’s alright?”

“Yes, sir, absolutely, sir.” Ray uncorks the wine and pours a small measure into Harry’s glass. “Would you like to taste it before the lady?”

Harry snorts and Hermione loses her mind.

“For Godric’s sake, Ray, I can decide whether or not I’ll like wine without some bloke giving his opinion to me first!”

Ray panics. The wine bottle slips from his hand and it lands bottom down on the floor next to Hermione’s feet. The spray of red goes everywhere. Hermione jumps up and screeches as it lands all over her white dress. 

“Oh, fuck, I mean—” Ray drops to the ground and picks up the bottle. He sets it, half emptied, on the table between Harry and Hermione. “Merlin, I’m sorry! I don’t know why — I’m  _ so _ sorry, Miss Granger.”

“Ray, what are you doing?” Hermione eyes him warily and the hand clutching a white cotton napkin as it nears her bust.

“Cleaning up, oh! Oh, fuck— I mean, shit, bugger!” Ray is about three seconds from fainting as the curses continue to stream unwittingly from his lips. 

Harry breaks down into full fits of laughter. Hermione’s eyes shoot daggers at both of them. He tries to offer Hermione what she assumes is an apologetic smile, but it fails. Hermione uses her wand to siphon the wine from her dress and then excuses herself to the loo. 

When she returns, the world has righted itself. Harry has filled up their wine glasses, there’s a piece of fluffy bread on her plate, and her menu is cracked open to the entrees. She sits down and folds her napkin over her lap. She sniffs at her wine and takes a nice, long gulp.

“He’s beside himself,” Harry chuckles at her less than sympathetic eye roll. “Aw, come on, love. It’s not every day that he gets to wait on — what did Rita say? — Britain’s Power Couple?”

“Dean and Seamus are going to be so put out,” she giggles, feeling the weight of the evening melt away. “I suppose my exposure to our part in the war is extremely limited to people who have known us for years. You’re right.”

“Pardon me?” Harry’s eyebrows furrow and he’s smiling playfully down into his wine glass. “Could you repeat that last bit?”

She kicks him softly beneath the table and he grabs her knee and locks his hand around the bare skin he finds. 

“Fine, fine. You’re right.” She puts a hand up. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“Twice is enough to last me a lifetime,” he quips with a cheeky smirk. He doesn’t remove his hand as he reaches for his wine and sips it. “Did you know that there’s a vineyard in France owned by Veela?”

“Is there?” She’s distracted by the way his thumb slips feather-light on the inside of her thigh. Not high enough to be inappropriate, but definitely enough to bring a pink stain to her cheeks. 

He jerks his chin. “I didn’t care for wine until I visited during a trip for the DMLE. I’d like to take you there.”

Higher, his thumb climbs and his hand inches along with it. It reaches the hem of her little white dress and stays there, making sure she can feel every little drum of his fingers. 

She swallows too much wine and coughs hard. So hard that her face, already pink from Harry’s touch, turns red under the force of her lungs. Harry is worried in an instant, offering her water and a napkin — anything to help. 

“Fine,” she rasps around the intense tickle in her throat, “down the wrong side. I’m fine.”

He rubs circles on her upper back until the spasm stop altogether. “Alright?”

Hermione nods and swallows some of the water he’s offered to her. “Sorry. I was distracted.”

“Too distracted to swallow?” He’s teasing her and the color on her face hasn’t lessened. “I like it when you blush, you know?”

“Well, I like it when you touch me,” she whispers back to him and takes his hand from her back and places it on her thigh again. 

He’s caught off guard as his eyes widen a fraction, but he recovers quickly and resumes the soft caresses against her skin. They relax back into comfort when Ray appears at the table again. 

“Are you ready to order?” 

His excitable tone grates on Hermione and she practices counting to ten in her head. He’s grinning at them with anticipation, practically pushing his cheeks into his eyes. Hermione takes a deep breath.

“Whatever the chef recommends, please.” She has never eaten in a place that melds magic with muggle and so she's open to anything. 

Harry follows suit. “The lady demands an adventure, Ray.”

Ray practically bounces. “Yes, right, coming right up!”

And then he’s off again, thankfully.

“I didn’t know you were so open about the food you eat.” Harry takes a small piece of bread and pops it into his mouth.

“Yes, well, I do eat a lot of takeaway and I’m always looking for something different.” Hermione doesn’t bother with the bread. She’s lushing on the wine, though. She’ll need it to get through Ray’s torrent of hyperactivity. “In the Creature department, we have to deal with a lot of foreign ministries and so I’ve developed a taste for non-traditional cuisine. Unfortunately, bangers and mash doesn’t quite do it for me every day of the week.”

“Huh.” Harry swirls his wine around thoughtfully and then takes a long sip. “Despite how well we know each other, I’m constantly surprised by you lately. First, I find you on several dating websites, then find out about your long dating history, and then—“ he ducks his head down so that he’s whispering directly in her ear, “I discover that you’re the best shag of my life.”

The smile is on her face before she can try to stop it and her head cants toward the table as she stifles a laugh. He’s chuckling right at her ear and his fingers tense lightly on her thigh. The moment is so incredibly intimate; from the outside, they probably appear like a flirty couple who truly adore one another. 

And it’s true. Harry’s flirting — actually flirting with her, Hermione Granger.

Hermione puts her hand to his chest and leans into him, a flirty smile on her face. “It seems I wasn’t the only one holding out, Potter. You’re quite good.”

“Good?” Harry pulls back, mock affront on his face. “The way you said my name earlier on your kitchen table was definitely better than  _ good. _ ”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, because it’s utterly true. And she’s instantly brought back to the moment, a blush flashing across her nose and dusting her cheeks. He knows what she’s thinking because he’s got a wolfish smile on his face that lights his eyes and seizes her heart.

It continues until their food shows up and the back of Hermione’s head aches from the sheer force of her never ending smile. Harry is situated so close to her now that their elbows touch. Every time he whispers near her ear or touches her hand with his, her heart speeds up. She’s never had so much attention directed at her before and Hermione thinks she can become addicted to the way he makes her feel.

The server sets down a delicious smelling dish between Hermione’s assortment of flatware. It’s rich brown in color and the waft of savory meat fills her senses. She wonders where the magical infusion happens, but before she can even form a full thought, the roast potatoes on her plate crack open to reveal a buttery center. 

“Brilliant,” Harry whispers at his own plate and glances at hers to watch the mushrooms melt over the top of the beef.

“The chef is proud to present to you filet mignon with cipollini onions, basted with wild mushroom sauce, and a lovely fig—”

Hermione drops her fork just as it slices into the meat. Her eyes are round as she pushes back from the table. 

“Fig?” She’s panicking. Is her throat closing? Or is her mind playing tricks? “Did you say fig?”

Harry grabs her hand, brows pinched with worry. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m allergic to fig!” Her volume earns their table the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

“I didn’t know!” Ray’s high-pitched squeal of an apology rings through the restaurant. He swipes the food away from Hermione’s seat and levitates it back to the kitchen. “Oh, Merlin, I almost killed The Brightest Witch of Her Age. Oh, Merlin and Circe and Morgana.” 

Ray is hyperventilating. Harry is trying and failing to not chuckle at her side as Hermione sucks in deep breaths. She wouldn’t die, not really, but she doesn’t fancy having hives during her first official date with Harry. Still, she doesn’t have the capacity to calm Ray down and so she watches him carry on in spectacular fashion. 

“Hermione Granger almost died on my watch,” he heaves through heavy breathing. “Oh,  _ Garamond _ , she survived He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but not your fine dining! Padma is going to fucking— oh, Helga, I’m sorry, Padma will kill me for this!”

She’s fine, she hadn’t actually taken a bite of the food, but Ray’s hand finds her forehead anyway. He checks her temperature, runs a magical diagnostic on her to ensure she’s not having indirect-contact reactions. Harry isn’t helping as he points to her neck and asks Ray if he thinks this spot — nonexistent, she might add — is a hive or indication of her airways closing. He’s messing with the poor server and Ray is having an absolute meltdown. 

“Ray!” Hermione grabs his face between both of her hands and forces his eyes to her level. His mouth is open, eyebrows high on his forehead over wide eyes. “I’m fine, Ray. Deep breaths with me now.”

  
And she leads him in patterned deep belly breathing to keep him from fainting on the ground in front of them. When Harry suggests that Hermione’s face is starting to look purple, Hermione knocks his knee with hers.

“Right, good, Ray. In through your nose and out through your mouth.” Hermione shows him again and watches as his chest rises and falls with hers. “Good. I’m going to let go of your face now and you’re going to go back to the kitchen and have some chocolate, alright?” 

He nods with his face still stuck between her palms. He’s pale and sweaty and if she wasn’t so concerned with keeping him conscious, she’d probably find it quite funny. Especially with Harry’s shaking shoulders rocking against her. 

Ray slowly ambles away from them and Hermione allows her head to fall into her hands. “Nothing is going right tonight.” 

Harry’s hands wrap around her wrists and pulls her hands away from her face. He has an amused smirk on his face when she finally meets his eyes. “I haven’t had such a good time on a date in —ever.” 

She snorts through her nose and shakes her head. “Maybe it’s a sign, Harry. It shouldn’t be like this, right? We should be somewhere natural and with Ray and the food and choking on the wine — maybe it’s the universe’s way of saying that we shouldn’t pursue this thing between us.”

His hold on her wrists tightens the slightest bit. His eyes flash, concern suddenly overtaking the joy that had been there only moments before. He kisses the inside of her wrist gently and shakes his head. 

“I disagree.” He places one of her hands on his heart and winds his fingers through the other and places it on her knee. “I’ve had enough of signs and fate to last a lifetime. I think — well, we’ve gone through puberty and a war and maybe this is just a chance for us to finally get to know each other through the irony of life. No pressure.” 

She lets a shaky breath loose. “No pressure? I changed my knickers four times before finally coming to see you. That’s a  _ lot _ of pressure, Harry.”

He grins at her, just positively beams. “Clearly there’s too much pressure on getting it right.” His hand leaves hers and his fingers dance up her thigh and back down to her knee. “Honestly, I hope you settled on no knickers at all.”

Hermione laughs and shoves at his shoulder playfully. “You really don’t think this is a sign we should just — stay friends?”

Harry gives an emphatic shake of his head, hair flopping with each movement. “Merlin, no! I don’t need to have the perfect date with you to know I want to marry you one day.”

“Marry?  _ Marry _ !” Hermione squeaks the words with eyes as large as moons and an erratic heartbeat that threatens to dislodge itself from her chest. She’s sure the entire restaurant can hear the thundering noise and she holds her breath to try and calm herself. “Harry, I — I don’t, I mean, I do, but we haven’t really — except, I suppose we’ve known each other for — and, oh,  _ Harry _ , it’s not that I don’t love you, it’s—”

She lets a breath loose and presses her hand over her heart. The last thing she wants to do is look at Harry, but she forces her eyes to his and tries desperately to return his stare. He’s smiling so wide and his eyes are positively sparkling behind his glasses. She can’t reconcile it; marry Harry? Her best friend? After one date wherein everything has gone wrong? He can’t be serious, he  _ can’t _ .

“You’re going to hyperventilate if you don’t allow yourself to breathe,” he tells her with the edge of laughter caressing his lips. “I didn’t mean that we should get married tomorrow or even a year from now, love. Just that, well, I’m certain that I want to marry you one day — bad dates or not.” 

It works to calm her a little, but she’s still seized by the thought that he’s so open about his intentions and has no concern at all belying his happiness. His hand winds around hers and he pulls her hand to his lips. The sweet, feather-soft kiss on her palm sends her head into another tailspin. Harry Potter, best friend, Savior-of-the-Wizarding-World, The Chosen One, is in this — whatever it is — for the long haul. He wants more and she’s… is that what she wants one day? And what if it doesn’t work? Is she willing to risk her friendship, her best friend, to try?

“Harry.” She pulls her hand away from him and wipes her palms on her bare knees. “I don’t know that you understand who I am. I’m extremely hard to live with — ask Ron. He barely lasted a month in my flat. My hair — it clogs the drains, I leave feminine products everywhere.” She peers over at him to see what face he’s pulling, but Harry is just smiling at her without a care in the world. She huffs and carries on. “I can’t cook. You know this. I have to order takeaway more often than not. I hate —  _ loathe _ — horror movies and I know that you like them, but I just — they’re shockingly terrible movies, Harry.” 

Harry’s shoulders rise and fall as he tries to hide his mirth behind his hand. Still, he doesn’t interrupt her. That should be her clue to stop talking, but she doesn’t. 

“I want to be Minister of Magic,” Hermione demands, as if that’s going to sober him up. It doesn’t. “My work always comes first and I never come home before the sun goes down. There are so many things wrong with the world and I want to fix them and that takes dedication and long days and so as far as children go—”

“Hermione.” 

“I mean, it’s not that I don’t want them, of course.” Hermione’s eyes gaze off into the distance and she’s lost to her ramble. “I haven’t actually given it much thought, really. They require so much work and I’d be a terrible mum if I never actually saw my child because I’m busy trying to fix the werewolf laws and—”

“Hermione.” Harry snags her hand again and yanks on her gently. “Love, come back to me?” 

She stutters and blinks.  _ Marry  _ him? Hermoine swallows around a thick lump in her throat and finally brings her eyes back to Harry. “I— oh, Harry, I’m so sorry.”

His grin is brilliant as he pulls her closer. “There’s nothing you can say that will stop how I feel for you, Hermione. That was a good effort, but short of declaring your love for Padma, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for life.” 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing at all. Instead, she’s caught by how earnest he is and how his certainty dances off his tongue with all the steadiness of an acrobat. His thumb caresses her hand and his lips are so, so close to the corner of her mouth. If he’s trying to make her forget all of her worries, he’s doing an amazing job. 

“We’re good together,” he whispers. His breath ghosts across her lips. “I want to give this a proper go. Yeah?” 

Harry’s eyes snap to hers and they’re so close that she can see little flecks of dark green around his irises. What she wouldn’t give to be half as sure as Harry. There’s so much that can go wrong, so much that she can lose if this doesn’t work for any reason at all. Ron walked away from her because of her ambitions, which come before everything. And Harry likes to travel, he likes to get away and live life and she’s — well, she has dreams and aspirations and while she’d love to travel with him, her first priority is her future.

Hermione chews on the side of her lip. Harry isn’t closing the gap between them, he’s close and he’s smiling and it’s oddly unnerving to have his warmth envelop her while her brain works through all the ways in which her entire world could crumble around her if this thing doesn’t work.

“Stop smiling,” she begs him quietly. Her top lip nudges his bottom lip and she sucks in a sharp breath through her lips.

“Sorry,” he whispers back as his eyes dip along the curves of her face. “I think I’m winning.” 

She can’t stop the little laugh that leaves her. “Winning what?” 

“Your pro-con list.” Harry tilts his head back and the space is all Hermione needs to clear the static that’s taken over her mind.

“You can’t win a pro-con list,” she insists. 

“Firmly disagree.” 

And then his lips are on hers and he’s pulling her body against his and damn the patrons of the restaurant because his chest is practically vibrating under her fingertips. There’s a flash somewhere in the distance that she barely makes out through her eyelids. She’s sure she hears Ray gasp in their vicinity. Someone is clapping gleefully at a far away table. 

  
Hermione’s resolve cracks. She places her hands on either side of Harry’s head and holds him firmly to her lips. After several beats, she pulls back and they grin at one another. 

“See. I won.”

She refuses to acknowledge that he’s right. “Take me home, Harry.”

They apparate straight into her flat. Harry wastes no time at all; he presses Hermione against her door and attacks her neck with open-mouth kisses as his hands travel her body and remove the clothing she’d worked so hard to perfect before their date. 

A trail of clothes leads to her bed where they lay breathless and wrapped up in one another. Harry’s hand threads through her curls as she rests her cheek on his thrumming chest. The worries of the night are muted as Hermione basks in the feeling of being completely sated. She draws little patterns on his chest with the pads of her fingers. 

Hermione never did agree to date Harry, much less marry him. She left that on the table at the restaurant and refuses to unpack it here and now. Instead, she settles on one commitment she can surely give him until she’s ready for more. 

She reaches over Harry to her nightstand and grabs her phone. He stares at her with a notch between his brows and watches as her fingers fly over the screen. 

“What’re you—?”

She shushes him and shows him the screen where eHarmony glares back at them. Her finger hovers over the “cancel subscription” button. Harry’s grin is  _ everything _ as he reaches for his own phone and does the same. 

“On three?” He asks her with electric excitement in his voice. “One — two — three.”

Hermione’s finger presses too hard into the screen, but it’s done. Harry’s lips crash lightly onto her forehead and he places both their phones back onto her nightstand. She’s filled with a lightness she hasn’t felt in months. No more dating sites, no apps, no expectations. Instead, she’s lying in bed with her best friend, her  _ boyfriend _ , and, though she won’t tell him until she’s ready, her forever. 

**Fin**


End file.
